


there's a port on a western bay

by kalina16



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gamora is trying her best, Hurt/Comfort, Poor Peter seriously, Post-GOTG Vol. 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalina16/pseuds/kalina16
Summary: Peter's fine. Really. Sure, his father ended up being a homicidal maniac who liked impaling him through the chest, he almost got everyone he cared about dead and succeeded with one, but really. He's fine. Just don't ask his team.





	there's a port on a western bay

**Author's Note:**

> And here's the massive load of angst and everyone sticking their noses in Peter's emotional well-being, because there's no way Peter's bouncing right back from all that.

It’s the sudden bang that echoes through the ship, followed by vicious swearing that wakes her. Gamora’s eyes snap open, her fingers already reaching for her sword before she realizes that Peter’s swearing out of frustration, not mortal pain. She sighs, dragging herself from her bunk and making her way through the battered hull of the ship.

“Peter,” she sighs. Then frowns.

He’s leaning heavily against the ladder leading to the cockpit, his hands gripping the rungs tightly, his eyes a million miles away. There’s a vacant, empty look on his face that compliments the glazed look in his eyes.

“ _Peter_ ,” Gamora repeats, louder, stepping forward. Peter starts, blinking rapidly. He stares at her in blank confusion before flushing in embarrassment.

“Missed a step,” he says, jerking his head at the ladder that leads to the cockpit. “Stupid mistake. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“It’s fine,” she says, drawing closer. “And I’m less concerned about me losing sleep than I am about those who do not sleep at all.”

Peter flinches, and she sees his walls slam up, a forced smile stretching its way across his face. “C’mon, Gamora, I’m plenty sleeping. Sleeping plenty. I am – getting lots of sleep.”

In the past, she may have let it go. But now, at this point, after everything…

“That’s a lie and you know it,” she says. Peter’s eyes immediately dart away, and she takes a step closer, her eyes searching him. The dark circles beneath his eyes are beginning to look worse than the slow-healing bruises that line the side of his face, and she’s close enough to see the tiny tick in his jaw, the absolute lack of color in his face.

“Peter,” she says, her hand brushing his, hesitant. “I just-“ _Am worried about you? Want you to sleep? Want you to be okay?_ She sighs. Maybe a different approach is in order. “I just wanted to talk. About that…unspoken thing.”

His mouth quirks up in a half smile. “Oh _rea_ lly?” he says, and Gamora rolls her eyes. “That’s technically making it a spoken thing, you know.”

“You Terrans and your confusing terms,” she says, brushing past him as she climbs up to the cockpit. She hesitates for a beat at the top to make sure he’s following her. “Do you want to debate its spoken standard or actually talk about it?”

“Talk about it, obviously,” Peter says, flopping down in one of the pilots seats. “It’s just I’m usually the one that’s trying to get you to open up. How the tables have turned.”

“I don’t understand what tables turning have to do with anything-“

“It’s, uh – figure of speech,” Peter says, waving absently as he fiddles with the new music player he’d been gifted. “It just means – _damnit_ , Rocket, I though you said hooking this into the system would be easy – ha!” He punches the air as music begins to filter through the cockpit. “Uh, sorry. It just means that the situation is reversed.”

“Hmph,” Gamora muses. “Maybe I should leave the tables unturned, then.”

“No, no, I’ll stop being an ass!” Peter says, quickly, eyes going wide. “I really do want to talk about it. I’m serious." He hesitates, before handing her the small music player. “Here – you can set the mood and everything.”

Gamora stares at the small device, running her fingers over the embossed _Zune_ before clicking the screen to life. “You said there are three hundred songs on here?” she asks, scrolling through the tiny black text.

“Yeah,” Peter says, slightly awed. “It’s gonna take me so long to learn them all. It’s got all my old ones on there, too, if you want something familiar.”

Gamora changes her strategy, searching for a familiar name. “You’ll have to teach me the new ones,” she says. “Once you’ve memorized the lyrics, of course.”

“I only need, like, two listens,” he says. “And we can memorize them together, huh? Teach them to Groot before Rocket swipes it.”

“That would be...agreeable,” she says, a small smile on her face. A familiar title comes up, the artist of a song she’s often heard Peter praise. She clicks it.

“Agreeable,” Peter says, grinning. “That’s real excitement for you right there-“

_“There’s a port, on a western bay-“_

Gamora settles back, her song chosen. The lyrics are familiar, she’s heard them so many times from Peter’s lips.

Which is why it’s an immediate sign of alarm that he’s sitting there frozen instead of singing along. “Peter?” she says, concerned.

_“They say Brandy, fetch another round-“_

Peter jerks forward, forcefully clicking at the device until the music cuts off, his eyes wild. “ _Not_ that one!” he gasps, suddenly breathing harshly.

Gamora stares at him in shock. He knows every word to that song, he’s sung it to her at the top of his lungs while grinning like a fool. What could possibly have changed so quickly to provoke _that_ reaction?

“Peter, are you alright?” she asks, laying a gentle hand on his arm. He starts at her touch, staring at her blankly before his eyes widen.

“Oh, _damnit_ , Gamora, I’m sorry,” he says, voice shaking. “I didn’t mean – it’s just-“ he glances away, his face pale. “I’m sorry. I- Ignore that. I was just being stupid, okay?”

“You were not being stupid,” she says. “What happened to you, with that song?”

Peter stands abruptly. “Nothing,” he says, quickly. “Just give me a sec to – to grab a drink. I’m fine, I swear.”

“That’s a lie,” Gamora says, following him down the ladder. She grabs him by the shoulder, spinning him to face her. “Peter, what’s wrong? What just happened up there?”

“Nothing,” Peter says, avoiding her eyes desperately. “Absolutely nothing, can we just go back to that unspoken something-“

“Not when you’re hiding everything else!” Gamora says, with a burst of impatience. “Talk to me, _please_ , did it have something to do with what happened on Ego’s planet?”

Peter jerks back from her abruptly, going paler. “ _No_ ,” he says, with such ferocity that Gamora immediately knows it’s untrue. Green eyes flick to meet hers and he slumps, suddenly looking more tired than before. “I guess I’m just overtired. There might be something to that whole ‘getting more sleep’ thing you were talking about after all.”

“Peter…” she says, her fingers twitching as she longs to reach out to him.

He gives her a smile that’s a pale, sad imitation of his normal bright grin. “I’m fine. I’m just…gonna go get some rest.”

He’s gone so quickly Gamora doesn’t have the time to get a word out, much less forcefully grab him by the wrist and drag him to her like she wants to. She stares at his retreating back, at a loss.

“I give him another day before he crashes and burns. Tops.”

Gamora starts at Rocket’s voice, spinning to face her friend where he’s leaning against the ladder.

Rocket shrugs. “Like I told you,” he says, an undercurrent of weary sadness in his voice. “He ain’t lettin’ anyone in until he’s hit rock bottom.”

* * *

 

It was simultaneously the best and the worst moment of her life.

The best, because Peter was _alive_. The worst, because the circumstances were so, _so_ unfair.

She’d woken to the unwelcome but familiar feeling of dissipating electrical surges in her nervous system, the blurriness in her eyes clearing slowly as her enhancements kicked in. Rocket barely had the time to open his mouth before she was on him, shoving him against the wall and raging, _raging-_

_Peter was on that planet he was still there Peter was still there and they LEFT him-_

_“How could you!”_ she had shrieked, her fingers tightening around his neck. “You left him there to _die_ -“

“I didn’t have a _choice_!” Rocket yelled back, clawing at her arm. “I couldn’t-“

“He would _never have left you!”_

Rocket had frozen, going boneless in her hold. “I know,” he’d whispered, voice cracking.

It was the awful shine of tears as they slipped down his face that stopped her dead.

She remembers staggering away, her limbs numb as Drax’s voice comes desperate over the comms. She remembers Rocket, voice cracking, telling her that he’d left Yondu with a spacesuit – one spacesuit.

She remembers the rush of emotion that surged through her when the small, blinking sign of life registered on the screen, struggling not to let herself hope and failing. The overwhelming relief that nearly dizzied her when they finally found him, adrift just outside the former planet’s atmosphere.

And she remembers the sudden, jerking drop of her heart when they finally pulled Peter aboard the ship, still clutching desperately at Yondu’s corpse.

And too-clearly, she remembers, with a mix of rage and grief on his behalf, the awful, dead look on Peter’s face, streaked with silvery trails where tears had cut through blood and dirt.

It was the most quiet she’d ever heard her family, the silence broken only by the steady thrum of the ship and the soft, gut-wrenching sound of Peter’s sobs.

She remembers the next hours in a sort of hazy blur that only had part to do with the beating she’d taken. Most of it was spent where she’d fallen to her knees by Peter’s side, trying to offer him what comfort she could while he gripped her as if she was the only thing anchoring him to gravity. Groot had been there as well, large eyes unbearably sad as he clambered onto Peter’s shoulder, leaning his head against his shoulder.

The others had kept them alive – Rocket taking over the ship’s controls with Nebula as copilot. After securing Mantis in one of the ship's bunks, Drax and Kraglin had done what they could with Yondu’s body – a matter that would wait. That _could_ wait. They were too bone-weary, too wrung out to deal with anything of that magnitude.

That, and Peter had lapsed into unconsciousness two minutes later.

There were a good five minutes of hushed, panicked arguing among the Guardians over the merits of finding a medical facility and far too many possible injuries that ended in death. Rocket had ended that argument abruptly as he slipped down the ship’s ladder, glaring.

“Stick a monitor on him and put him in a d’ast bed, for star’s sake,” he had said. “Let ‘im sleep it off.”

It was a testament to how concerned he was that there was no _moron_ or _Star-idiot_ punctuating those words.

So Peter had slept a full twenty-two hours, the monitor beeping steadily, as they’d pulled themselves together, stitching what wounds they could and plotting out the nearest planet. There was a heavy feeling of exhausted relief over them reminiscent of what they felt after saving Xandar – a simple appreciation that they were alive and the enemy defeated. But there was a bitter, caustic edge to it this time. They’d seen the death and destruction caused by a Celestial, nearly been victims of it themselves. There was no re-growing Yondu like they had Groot. And, despite the monitor telling her Peter was fine and mending, she couldn’t shake the heaviness on her heart as she sat half-asleep by his side.

Because they’d gotten Peter back alive – thank the gods – but she couldn’t help the awful feeling that some part of him had died in the process.

* * *

 

No matter how Drax may feel about its presence in battle, there is something to be said for the calming influence of music. The way the odd Terran melodies had filtered through the Milano, the changing tempo and its confusing lyrics a reminder of _home_ and _family_. Music is something that is _theirs_. Somewhere along the line, Quill’s worn and fragile mixtapes had become a team possession – and a beloved one, at that.

Which is why, he thinks, it is so disturbing to realize they’ll never see those tapes again.

It was an innocent question, a bid by Rocket to bring Peter some semblance of peace in the first few hours after he wakes, the joy at seeing them alive fading to devastated horror once he remembers. They’re all shaken, but Peter just had his family die in his hands, and Drax – well, he knows that pain far too well.

“You want your walkman?” Rocket had asked, from where they were all gathered near the ship’s bunks.

Peter had abruptly stiffened, an agonized look flashing across his face before his eyes dropped to the floor, shaking his head. “Don’t have it,” he’d muttered.

Gamora had frowned. “We can find it-“

“He crushed it,” Peter had said, brokenly. His words were quickly swallowed by the dead silence that followed. Drax caught the widening of Rocket’s eyes, the flash of rage that crossed Gamora’s face. “So, yeah,” Peter had said, his voice clogged. “That’s that.”

It nearly enrages him as much as what Ego had done to them, the callous destruction of an item that was _theirs._ But it’s the story he senses behind it that truly concerns him. Quill has yet to tell the rest of their team – their family – what had transpired between him and his father. He had caught glimpses of the man, of course, the ugly sneer twisted across the Celestial’s face. But while they had learned what Ego wanted Quill for – something that made him _burn_ in rage, to use a metaphor of Rocket’s – it is not hard to realize that there is much Quill is keeping from them.

They’ve made attempts, of course. But besides the raw topic of Yondu’s body, Quill is barely able to stay awake for a few hours at once. It is concerning, watching Peter struggle with exhaustion before he lapses back into sleep for hours. Quill is lively, loud and teasing – everything that he is not now.

Mantis explains that it is a result of the energy drain Ego used him for, assuring them that she is positive Quill will be back to normal soon. Or he should be, from what she’s been told. She never got to find out, with the rest of Ego’s children.

Gamora turns away at that, and Drax knows she’s thinking of a cave and the grave of hundreds.

Mantis immediately looks tearful, wringing her hands. Her innocence, Drax mourns, is already dying, piece by piece at Ego’s doing.

Later, he watches Mantis stare hesitantly at the stars, eyes wide and fearful. He watches Quill gently take Groot in his lap, the headphones from Yondu shared between them, Quill’s eyes still bloodshot.

Celestial or not, he had no right, Drax thinks. No right to call himself a father.

* * *

 

Of the two new additions to their team (because Nebula will never stay, no matter how differently she wishes) Mantis is by far the most inexperienced. Years of living alone on Ego’s planet have left her at a loss in the open galaxy, but she’s adjusting. Mostly thanks to the help of Drax and, surprisingly, Peter.

There’s an angry streak of protectiveness in him now, a bitter thing that rages over everyone that Ego harmed - every life he destroyed.

It’s more than his right, but Gamora feels another piece of her heart break as she realizes it’s just another part of Peter that Ego’s broken and shifted and _changed_.

_Damn that man and him ever touching Peter to the ever-burning fires of-_

The funeral helps, Gamora wants to think. It’s a way of giving closure, and she knows how important that can be. Peter seems to jerk out of the dazed state he’s been in, helping Kraglin put together the traditional Ravager funeral.

“It’s how he’d want it,” Kraglin had said, fiercely.

The rest of them find their own way to contribute to the ceremony – even Nebula, the steely look in her eyes softening the tiniest bit. Peter speaks and he cries but, for the first time since pulling him from space, she sees _Peter_ , and she stands silent in thanks for the man who gave him back to her alive. The other Ravagers show up, setting the skies ablaze with their lights, and they’re laughing and smiling and Peter’s eyes are bright and dancing in the light. So she decides. This unspoken something, this thing she’d come too close to losing – she gives in to it.

The sheer look of surprise and love that flickers through Peter’s eyes, the steady warmth of his arm around her, her head against his chest where she can hear the steady thrum of his heart, makes it worth it. He has her, and she has him. They made it this far.

They’ll be fine.

And then Peter goes and asks where Kraglin’s – _his_ – Ravager faction is.

“It’s – uh – it might be better left unsaid, Pete,” Kraglin says, his voice shaky as he plays feverishly with Yondu’s arrow, where it’s strapped to his side.

“Wait, _why?_ ” Peter asks, staring at him. When Kraglin merely shakes his head, his eyes wet, Peter turns to Rocket, who flinches. “What happened? Why’s it better left unsaid?”

There’s an underlying hint of desperation in his voice, and Gamora knows, with a sinking feeling, that they both already know what happened.

“Morons decided to pull a mutiny,” Rocket finally says, staring fiercely at the ship’s readings. “Killed everyone loyal to Yondu. So we killed them all back.”

Gamora feels more than hears Peter’s breath catch. “All – all of them are dead?” Rocket nods, fingers clenching, and Kraglin’s expression crumples.

“Oh,” Peter says, weakly. And then lapses into silence.

 _Damn_ it.

* * *

 

“He lost one dad and got stabbed in the back – literally – by the other. Whad’ya expect?” Rocket tells Gamora, still focused on the gun he’s meticulously pulling apart.

“Anger. Sadness. Crying. But not…this,” Gamora says, her voice unsure.

Rocket sighs. He’ll give her the worry, fine – whatever lovefest her and Quill have got going on means they’re gonna be insufferable now. Whatever. It can’t be worse than the d’ast sexual tension they’ve all put up with the last year. But _still_. Constantly asking _him_.

“He needs time, Gamora. People have funny ways with dealing with their shit. This is just Quill dealing with some really big shit,” he says. “And it’s like I said – he ain’t openin’ up until he’s hit rock bottom.”

“What does that even mean?” Gamora snaps, apparently as sleep-deprived as the rest of them.

“I mean he’s gonna get to a point where he can’t keep puttin’ his walls up. He’s gonna have a messy breakdown and we’ll pick up the pieces. Bam. Issues resolved.”

“ _Rocket_ ,” Gamora hisses.

“What?” he says, finally turning to her. Gamora’s eyes are angry, but she looks so d’ast _sad_ too, leaning up against the wall, that he caves.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters, hopping off the crate. “I’ll see if I can talk some sense into him.”

“Thank you,” Gamora’s voice follows him as he stomps through the ship, finally coming to a halt in front of Quill’s room. The door is open, revealing Peter where he’s sprawled across the bunk, a sleeping Groot tucked tightly against his chest.

“Rocket,” he says, still staring at the ceiling. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothin’ big,” he says, hopping up on the bed. “Just wondering when you’re gonna cut the whole ‘I’m fine’ bullshit.”

Quill flinches, and Rocket winces internally. Maybe going directly for the throat wasn’t the best idea. Ah, well.

“Not you, too,” Quill groans. “Look, I know you don’t buy it but I’m not _glass_. I’m a-okay, top of the line, _fine_.”

“Bullshit.”

“Really.”

“Bull.”

“Drop it.”

“ _Shit_.”

“Seriously, Rocket,” Quill says, wearily. “What do you want me to say? This _sucks -_ with a capital _S_ \- but I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Rocket says, slowly. “Then you wanna tell me what happened with Ego the living dick back there if it’s so _fine_?”

“ _Besides_ getting used as a fricking battery by my own dad?” Quill bites out. “I told you guys. We fought. He died. Yondu got me off the planet. He died. End of story.”

….and Rocket _might_ understand why Gamora was looking so worried. He’s _never_ heard Quill sound like that.

Rocket shifts, uncomfortable. He’s not _good_ at this. He’s just learning how to stop pushing people away. He’s not prepared to deal with those people doing the same to him.

“Pete…”

“It’s okay,” Quill says, sensing his discomfort. “S’like you said. I’m orphan boy. For real, this time.”

Rocket’s stomach twists. He didn’t _fricking mean it like that_ -

“S’okay,” Peter repeats, petting the back of Groot’s head. “S’fine.”

Like _hell_ it is.

* * *

 

It’s not fair, Gamora thinks. Because they won, they defeated Ego, but it doesn’t feel like a victory at all. Because Yondu is dead and Peter is – Peter is sad and quiet and locked up so tightly she feels utterly helpless to only watch as he slowly self-destructs. And she hates it, she hates that she walked away from Peter instead of sticking by him, she hates that she left him right in Ego’s hands, hates the realization that whatever Ego did to him isn’t going to fade anytime soon.

So she takes a more direct approach.

“Mantis,” Gamora asks, again, insistent. “I know it’s not a pleasant memory. But I need you to tell me what Ego did to his children. What he did to Peter.”

Mantis flinches, her already-large eyes widening. She hesitates, wringing her hands, and Drax lays a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“There is no one here that blames you for his deeds,” he says. “But it would help us to know. To help Quill, and to help you.”

Mantis takes a small, scared breath. “I did not know,” she says, softly, sadly. “At first, he would retrieve his prog- his children, himself. Most of them were young, too young to argue. But they were bright. They had such…happy emotions. Innocent ones.”

She shakes her head. “Ego would take them to his palace. He would show them the galaxies, and he would tell them of his purpose – their purpose.”

“And they just…agreed to it?” Rocket says, incredulous.

“No,” Mantis says, sadly. “He had a way of bringing them under his influence. He would fill their heads with eternity and leave no will of their own behind. They would become empty, like a hollow vessel.”

Gamora thinks of Peter’s vacant stares, the empty look in his eyes as he stares at a galaxy that used to bring childlike wonder in his eyes. She feels an icy chill settle around her heart.

“And then there was light,” Mantis says, her voice catching on a sob. “So much light. And screaming.” She closes her eyes, briefly, as Groot rests his head against her knee. “I was not permitted to see what happened after. But they never came back.”

“Until Star-munch.”

“Until Peter,” Mantis says, with a watery smile. “I am glad, at least one, could be saved.”

“Mantis,” Gamora says. “Is there any way Ego could still be…influencing Peter? Because you said-“

Mantis shakes her head. “All traces of Ego’s power died with his planet,” she says. “And I would have felt it in him. I do not, now.”

“What do you feel?” Drax asks.

“I feel grief, and guilt,” she says, softly. “In you, and you, and you,” she freezes them all on the spot, her pointed finger as pinning as her words. “And Peter, as well. So much grief. And…guilt.”

The Guardians fall silent, her words sinking in. Gamora feels a pang. They’re all grieving, it’s true. Ego’s planet was hardly easy on any of them. Rocket feels just as much guilt over Yondu’s death, and she knows Mantis is struggling with adjusting from the years under Ego’s control. As for her…Nebula is an old wound re-opened that will remain raw for a long time.

They’re all hurt. But none of them are self-destructing the way Peter is. Even Rocket is letting people in. But, for the first time in their small team-turned-family, it is _Peter_ that is shutting them out. And that is…significantly harder to deal with than she had imagined.

She cares deeply for Peter, she is sure of that. Whether he’s flirting obnoxiously with her or shutting her out because of highly _misplaced_ guilt, she’ll care for him either way.

But stars, she misses the Peter who drags her dancing and makes awful jokes and smiles and laughs with life _so much_.

* * *

 

The thing is, he’s trying. He really is.

He’s knows he’s being a total a-hole to the others. And that’s the last thing they deserve, not when everyone’s been so completely _awesome_ the past few weeks, from standing strong back on the planet to pulling themselves together and finding and repairing the Milano. They’re his family. And he _loves_ them, man, he loves them _so much._ So much he wonders how he ever could have thought, even for a second, that he could leave them for some bullshit _eternity._

_Psychotic, self-obsessed, murdering son of a-_

He’s pointedly trying _not_ to think about him. Which is hard, when you wake up in a cold sweat of terror every _frickin’_ time you go to sleep, because your head’s stuck playing “ _impale-Peter-and-use-him-as-a-battery-while-killing-everyone-he-cares-about”_ on a loop. That sucked enough the first two times through. He doesn’t need it popping up in his nightmares every time he tries to sleep.

But as much as he hates thinking about him, it means he’s not thinking about _him_ , which is better and worse all at the same time because there are good memories, yeah. But now all those memories are stained with cold hands and creeping ice in space and _damn_ , if anything’s gonna kill the humor of the time Kraglin accidentally started an inter-planetary civil war over food discourse, it’s _that_.

Peter sniffs, rubbing self-consciously at his eyes. His team has already seen him sobbing pathetically too many times in the last few weeks. He doesn’t need to give them another reason to doubt his ability to lead them into battle.

Especially when he’s doubting it enough himself, since, oh yeah, he almost _got them all killed_ -

But he’s _fine_. Really. ‘Cause “fine” can go anywhere from shaking off a knock in battle to huddling in the corner of the Ravager ship, wondering if he’s done _fine_ enough not to get eaten.

And _damnit_ , there he goes with the painful memories again. Even the _bad_ ones, the ones where _he_ was a grade-A asshole to him, because he was still _alive_ in those, still there to pick him up after a beating and dust him off. There to stick him behind the controls of a ship and show him how to navigate the skies, how to be _free_.

It hurts. A lot. But he’s still _fine._

That’s what he tells his team as they step into battle, because they’re being idiots and watching him instead of the Kree Purists they’re supposed to stopping from razing the docking station to the ground.

It’s bad enough he led them into straight into a Celestial’s murdering, insane hands. It’s another thing that he could’ve _let them die_ -

Peter shoves the thought away before he plunges right into another panic attack. He can’t fail his team now. Not again. Never again.

“Alright, a-holes plus another a-hole and one decent person,” he says, blasters clicking into place as the newly-restored Milano’s doors slide open. “Ready for this?”

“For a fight? Always,” Rocket says, grinning sharply. The rest of the team gives various answers of the same vein. Save Gamora, who’s looking at him all concerned again-

He takes a breath, his fingers reaching behind his ear before he remembers, fluttering awkwardly at the empty space before his hand drops abruptly.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

It goes surprisingly fine, for the first twenty minutes. Kraglin needs more training and he’s _definitely_ glad they stuck Mantis a safe distance behind them, but the rest of the team, his family, fights like a well-oiled machine and it’s _beautiful_. He’s always proud when he thinks on how far they’ve come, but there’s nothing like seeing it in action.

He’s just sniped a guy before he blew Drax’s head off, moving back while keeping a steady eye on Gamora, when he thinks they may actually finish this in time to-

There’s a sudden lurch as something catches his jacket, jerking him upwards where he’s hovering above the ground, and-

_He’s on the planet again, galaxies still fading from his eyes as he tries to comprehend what he’s been told when there’s light, too much light and-_

_Pain. White-hot pain stabbing through his chest as Ego rambles on about expansion, careless fingers crushing the only think he has left of his mother before the pain explodes, surging through his body with a blinding intensity that leaves him screaming, screaming screaming screaming-_

_Thousands of lives destroyed and **this is his purpose** -_

A surge of calm floods through him, meeting the pain head-on and effectively throwing everything into dizzying vertigo. There’s a muffled cry off to his side, and the light fractures as he feels awareness flood back into his limbs.

“Peter!”

A sharp burst of pain across his cheek brings the world back into sharp focus, his eyes blinking rapidly as the white light of Ego’s planet is replaced by the terrified faces of his teammates.

“Wha?” he croaks out, his voice raw – _from screaming_ , he thinks.

“Peter,” Gamora says, her eyes wide. “You just – you were just-“

She breaks off, her eyes checking him over almost frantically. Peter can just see Mantis off to the side, shaking violently as Drax rubs her back. His eyes catch sight of a docking hook where it’s lying on the ground near them, savagely ripped in two.

 _Oh_.

“Sorry, guys,” he manages to get out. Any other time, he’d be dying in humiliation, completely going to pieces like he just has in front of his team _mid-battle_ , but – his heart is still out of control and his skin is too hot and he’s shaking too hard and-

He manages to lean away from Gamora before promptly heaving his guts out everywhere.

Yeah, now he can die in humiliation.

* * *

 

“Enough.”

Gamora is resolute where she stands, blocking the only exit from Peter’s room. She feels a little guilty about cornering him so soon after the battle, but she stands by her words. She’s had enough.

“Gamora-“

“We’re serious, Peter,” Rocket says, and Gamora watches Peter choke on his words at the use of his actual name. “We’re doing this now.”

Gamora is heartened to hear the same determination in his voice. It was concerning to see Peter go rigid after one of the stray docking hooks had caught him from behind. It had been downright horrifying to hear him scream like he was being ripped apart. He hadn’t said a word the whole trip back to the ship, where he’d immediately fled for his room.

Where she, Rocket, Drax and Groot neatly have him cornered now. ~~~~

“Doing _what?_ ” Peter says, but there’s an edge of nervousness beneath his bitter tone. “Talking about how hilarious it was when I screwed up earlier?”

“It was too _concernin’_ to be hilarious, ya idiot.”

“I walked backwards into a docking hook and couldn’t get down,” Peter says, flatly. “And instead of teasing me about it you’re _concerned?_ Maybe you should be the one who’s getting asked if they’re okay-“

“Peter, you were screaming,” Gamora cuts him off, glaring. “It was not _funny_. It was _terrifying_.”

“Look, I’m sorry I freaked you guys out. I’m fine now, okay? Just…leave it.”

“Peter,” Gamora snaps.

“Seriously.“

“It is normal,” Drax says. “To react violently after a traumatic experience.”

“Traumatic – _what_ -“

“As it is to fall into despair and sorrow after the death of a loved one,” Drax continues.

Peter stiffens. “Leave it.”

“No,” Gamora says.

“Leave it.”

“Yondu died, Peter.”

“ _Leave. It_.”

“Ego happened and Yondu died and you need to _talk to us_ instead of destroying yourself!” Gamora finally snaps, her arms forcing him back to the bed as he tries to rise. “Peter, please,” she says, softer.

“ _Shut up_ , just – shut up!” Peter bursts out, jerking harshly out of her grasp as he makes for the door. “I’m not gonna sit here and cry to you like some pathetic loser who needs your _pity!_ ”

“That is _not_ what is happening here!” Gamora bites back. “Stop being stubborn and blind and _pretending_ you’re alright!”

“I _am!_ ” Peter yells, shoving at Drax in anger as he tries to escape the room. Unsuccessful, he steps back, taking a long, steadying breath. “Guys,” he says, a storm simmering beneath his forced calm. “Seriously. Leave. It. I need space for like, five seconds, okay?” He grabs his jacket, rooting through one of his drawers. “Now where’s my damn Walkman-“

He freezes. Gamora stands silently behind him, exchanging a glance with Drax and Rocket. Rocket looks like he’s bracing himself, quietly positioning Groot behind him.

In a sudden show of rather remarkable strength, Peter rips the drawer out and hurls it across the room, where it bangs loudly against the bed before clattering to the floor.

“Son of a _gods-damned_ d’ast _mother-fucking_ bitch-“

Rocket covers Groot’s ears in fascinated horror as Peter continues to spew the filthy string of expletives. Gamora and Drax remain un-flinching. Peter cuts off abruptly, his back turned to them as he presses the heels of his hands furiously into his eyes, chest heaving.

“This is all my fault,” Peter whispers, his voice echoing oddly in the sudden quiet of the room.

“That’s not true,” Gamora says, stepping forward.

“I took the space suit.”

“He _gave_ it to you,” Gamora says. “He wanted to save you. There was nothing you could’ve done.“

“But I _could’ve!_ ” Peter shrieks, whirling on her. His eyes are too-bright, his chest heaving. “I _could’ve_ stopped that, I could’ve stopped _all of it –_ if I hadn’t just been a _dumbass blind idiot-“_

“Peter,” Gamora cuts in, unable to let him go on. “You couldn’t have possibly-“

“ _What?_ ” Peter yells. “Couldn’t have _what_ , seen the fricking obvious warning signs? Realized I was being used by my psychotic power-hungry dad? _Listened to my damn friends?!_ ” His voice is climbing higher, his breathing so fast and sharp Gamora fears he’s on the edge of a panic attack. “Yondu’s _dead_ , Gamora! He’s _dead_ and you were all almost _dead_ and it’s _all my damn fault!”_

Peter’s near-shrieking chokes off into a strangled sob, and he stumbles back. “My fault,” he gasps, collapsing gracelessly to the floor, legs pulling against his chest as he curls away from her. “My fault.”

Gamora is by his side immediately, her arms wrapping tight around him. There’s a moment of stiffness before Peter crumples into her embrace, his own arms weaving around her waist. She feels him shudder against her shoulder, as he desperately tries to stifle the sobs that choke out. Gamora hears more than sees the rest of the Guardians join them on the floor, Groot reaching hesitantly for Peter’s knee.

“You cannot possibly hope to take all the blame on yourself,” Drax says. “Not when it is untrue.”

“Ego’s the one who killed Yondu,” Rocket bites out. “This? Is _all_ on him.”

“He killed her, too.”

Peter’s voice is so small Gamora almost misses it. She hesitates. “Killed who?” she asks, afraid of the answer.

“My _mom!_ ”

Oh. _Oh_.

Her heart twists in her chest. She hears Drax’s sharp inhale and feels Rocket’s wide eyes on her. Gamora’s fists tighten, nails biting into her palms.

“And it – he just – it was just an _inconvenience_ for him,” Peter grinds out, his voice caught between grief and rage. “He didn’t even _care_ that he’d left her to die and then he didn’t care that – that _I_ was going to die and – you were right, Gamora, you were so right and I was such an _idiot_ -“

“Peter,” Gamora cuts in, unwilling to hear the self-loathing in his voice any longer. “I wasn’t – he was your family. He represented everything you ever wanted and he used that against you.”

“He killed my mom,” Peter rages, half-hysterically. “He killed my mom and he killed Yondu and he _broke my damn Walkman_ -“

His yelling breaks abruptly into harsh sobs, and his hands clench fiercely. “I hate him. I hate him _so much._ ”

“So hate him,” Gamora says, gripping him tighter. “Hate him and everything he did. But don’t let that hate _be_ you, Peter. Don’t let him-“ she chokes off, losing the battle as the burning tears finally escape, streaking down her cheeks.

“He almost killed you, Peter,” Gamora finally whispers. “And Peter – Peter, we couldn’t lose you. _I_ couldn’t lose you. We wouldn’t _survive._ ”

Peter gives a wet, shuddering gasp, burrowing his head deeper into her shoulder.

“It’s okay to hate him. It’s okay to _not be okay_. But please – Peter _please_ don’t push us away. Don’t let us lose you anyways.”

“She’s right, ya hear that?” Rocket says, moving to Peter’s side. “Take it from somebody who’s – who’s got a whole lot of experience pushing people away. It doesn’t help. At all. It just makes you bitter and angry and miserable inside.”

“You’ve lost much, but you have not lost us,” Drax adds. “And we will not lose you.”

“I am Groot,” comes a determined squeak from Peter’s lap, and he gives a wet, shaky laugh, looking up.

“S’that an actual threat, Groot?”

Rocket cuts Groot a quick look, but Peter is calming, his breathing steadier as his shaking sobs fade. His grasp on Gamora loosens, but he doesn’t let go, instead leaning his head wearily against her shoulder. Gamora, in turn, tightens her embrace, her own head coming to rest against the wild mess of his hair.

“Sorry for…being a dick, and all,” Peter finally says, after a long silence. Rocket gives an amused snort and Gamora rolls her eyes, pulling back so she can see him.

“You had your reasons,” she says, squeezing his hand. “It’s no more than any of us would have expected, or done ourselves if our positions were reversed.”

“But seriously,” Rocket says. “Next time we’re just lettin’ you dangle from behind the ship until you talk.”

Peter gives another watery laugh. “Thanks, guys.” He sobers, staring at the ground. “Seriously. Not just for….getting me to talk, I guess. For saving my ass. You guys were the real heroes.”

“We weren’t that much help, in the end,” Rocket says, bitterly. “We practically did nothing.”

“No,” Peter says, sniffling. “You guys did _everything_.”

“Peter-“

“I’m serious,” he says, swiping at his eyes as he looks up at them. “You guys saved me. That’s the only reason I could…shake Ego off. You guys.”

There’s a silence after that, the four of them huddled together on the floor as Groot croons from his place in Peter’s lap.

“So, thanks,” Peter finally says, sniffling again as he flushes, the first red tinges of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rocket says, though he’s smiling. “That’s what family’s for.”

* * *

 

The Zune will never be his Walkman. It will never be the same battered plastic his mother pressed into his hands, the worn headphones that have sat so comfortably around his head since his abduction from earth.

But...it can be the small plastic square that Groot spends hours poring over, giving Peter a delighted smile every time he discovers a new song.

It can be the calming tones that Drax comforts Mantis with, telling her of his wife and child as she tries to make peace with the ghosts Ego’s left her with.

It can be the beat that Rocket’s blaster punctuates, the two of them laughing themselves senseless as they pick off unsuspecting enemies from above.

It can be the background noise as they all sit around the table, Peter losing horribly to Rocket in poker while Drax and Kraglin laugh at his vanishing units, Mantis petting Groot lightly while Gamora slips units stolen from Rocket's pile back into Peter's hands.

The ear buds can sit comfortably, one in his ear and one in Gamora's as she curls into his chest, their eyes glued on the passing constellations as they lie on her bunk.

It can be the battered plastic that the closest thing he's ever had to a father left him.

And that's...okay. He's okay.

* * *

 

_“At night, when the bars close down_

_Brandy walks, through a silent town_

_And loves a man, who’s not around_

_She still can hear him say-“_

“The sailor was an asshole,” Peter tells Gamora, where’s she’s leaning against his chest. “For leaving Brandy for the sea. He says all these great things then just leaves her alone and miserable, all for some stupid thing that won’t love him back.”

“That sailor was a fool,” Gamora says, her hand resting lightly against his. “But maybe Brandy wasn’t so miserable, after all,” she continues. “Maybe she had a son that made her happier than the sailor ever did. Maybe she had a son who loved her enough that it overpowered the sea, and made it right.”

Peter’s hand tighten around hers, and his breath hitches. “Yeah,” he says, thickly. “Maybe she did.”

_"Brandy, you're a fine girl_

_What a good wife you would be_

_But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea."_

“If _I_ was the sailor, though,” Peter says. “You’d definitely be the sea. Brandy could be the Milano, or the light, or whatever. But _you’d_ be my life, my lover, my lady-“

“I know,” Gamora smiles. “I know.”

They’ll be fine.


End file.
